


more than words

by thekardemomme



Series: Spierfeld Week [4]
Category: Love Simon (2018), Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 01:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14298090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekardemomme/pseuds/thekardemomme
Summary: “Not that kind of open mic,” Simon mumbles, and Leah elbows him. When he glances over to ask her what the hell that was for, he finds her just smiling sweetly at Nick. He knows she’s trying to lie, to keep it a secret to lure Nick there, but he can’t keep his mouth shut. “It’s, uh, poetry readings.”Nick raises his eyebrows. “Poetry? You’re into poetry now?”Simon shakes his head. “No. It’s not the poetry I’m into.”





	more than words

**Author's Note:**

> day four of spierfeld week: college/university

Watching Leah fuss over what to wear is pretty much a daily occurrence for Simon, at this point. After their mandatory year of living in the dorms at UGA, they’d decided to move into an apartment together. Which left Simon subjected to many, many hours of helping Leah pick what outfit is best for what occasion. Leah never used to be so picky about it, but he also isn’t really surprised by the slight change in behavior. She’d made new friends since starting UGA and she wants to fit in with them. 

Simon’s own college experience has been pretty predictable, at least so far. He was out, as he’d planned to be. He even had a pride flag hanging up on the wall in his room. He focused more on studying than partying, but still maintained a social life. And, the most important part, he was still best friends with his best friend. Everything has pretty much gone to plan for him. 

That’s why he’s not sure why Leah is so keen to change things all of a sudden. 

“You’re acting like this is such a big deal,” Leah sighs, tossing a top over her shoulder. It lands on the growing pile of discarded clothing in the middle of her bed. “We’re just going to a poetry reading, Simon. It’s not like I’m asking you to take up yoga and go vegan.”

Simon sighs, too. He can be just as dramatic as she is. “We always go to the same coffee shop, Leah. It’s weird to just go to this random hole in the wall place to hear people recite poetry. That’s not  _ us.  _ We never do things like that.”

“That’s why we’re giving it a shot. It’s just, like, a couple of hours of your life. I promise it won’t kill you. Okay—should I wear this top? And if you say yes, should I pair it with this choker, or the gold choker? Choose wisely.”

The hardest part about these questions is that there’s definitely a right answer. Leah has her outfit picked out already, she just wants Simon’s confirmation. So he picks the one he knows she likes, and then watches on as she grins triumphantly and pulls the clothes on. 

“Now,” she continues, “go get dressed. And make an attempt to look at least somewhat decent. Wear those ripped jeans I like and those black boots that Abby bought you. Pick your own shirt.”

“Yes, dear,” Simon teases, ignoring the swat on the arm she gives him as he heads to his room. 

The jeans that Leah likes are also Simon’s favorites, though he won’t admit it. They’re lighter than normal blue jeans and ripped at and above the knee, but tastefully, so they don’t show too much skin. They look as if they’ve been distressed in everyday use instead of being bought like that. He pairs it with his favorite Elliott Smith shirt _ (hour to hour, note to note) _ and a bomber jacket, and slips on his boots. It’s a bit more grunge than his normal style, but it works. 

Leah eyes him up and down when he returns to get her approval. “You look hot, Spier. If only Abby were here to do your eyeliner.” 

Abby only does his eyeliner for special occasions. It happened once in junior year for a play, and ever since, they’ve done it whenever Simon needs to look especially hot. She does it a bit more subtle than she did it for stage makeup, and Simon  _ does _ love how it makes his eyes pop, but it’s not an everyday thing. Especially not when they’re going to a coffee shop full of strangers. 

Leah grabs her purse, pulling it over her shoulder so it sits comfortably across her body. “Alright, I’m ready if you are.” And he is, so they go. 

The walk to Merlot—the weirdest and most pretentious name for a coffee shop in existence, probably—is just on the wrong side of too far. But Simon tries to keep an open mind. This is something that Leah is interested in, so the least he can do is pretend that he’s not bored out of his mind. Who knows, maybe he’ll actually like it. 

They pick a table in the back. Simon orders his usual iced coffee, but Leah surprises him by ordering some complex cappuccino. It sounds good, really, so Simon decides he’ll just ask if he can taste hers. Maybe she’ll change his coffee order. 

Poetry starts just after their coffee arrives. The first girl to the microphone has a timid voice that trembles when she speaks. Simon knows the fear she’s feeling—it was the same feeling he had the first time he stood on stage to perform in high school. So, when she finishes, he snaps (because clapping isn’t allowed) extra loud and extra long for her. Her poem, which had been about a teddy bear she’d been gifted as a child by her late father, was actually pretty good anyway. She deserved it. 

One by one, people approach the microphone. There’s a myriad of poem topics, from heavy personal shit to a few short lines about a pretty flower or shop they saw. One boy reads a poem about his trip to Italy, and it makes Simon want to book a plane ticket to Italy. 

He turns to Leah. “We should travel,” he informs her, and she cocks an eyebrow. “We should. Think about it—you and I, sitting on a terrace looking over a vineyard in Piedmont. We could drink amazing wine all day and shitty beer from bars at night, because the legal drinking age there is 18.”

“You’re a cheap drunk, Spier. I wouldn’t be able to take you anywhere if you spent the trip day drinking.”

“That’s what vacations are for, Leah!” He teases, sipping his iced coffee. The ice cubes rattle, and he realizes it’s almost empty. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to go get a refill.”

He weaves his way through the crowd of Merlot’s patrons—mostly college students, as far as he can tell. Thankfully the line isn’t long despite the crowd, so he gets his refill pretty quickly. The trek back to his table takes even less time.

When he slides back into his seat, he notices Leah’s eyes locked on the stage. He turns to see who she’s staring at. His heart stops when he sees Bram Greenfeld, Cute Bram from high school, adjusting the microphone to be a bit taller. 

“Bram,” he says, and he can see Leah nodding out of the corner of his eye. “I haven’t seen Bram since senior year. Or, I mean, the summer after senior year. It’s been so fucking long.” He pauses for a second. “He’s still cute.”

Leah turns to look at him. “Bram?” She asks, and Simon nods. “You thought Bram was cute in high school? I didn’t even know that.”

“I used to refer to him as Cute Bram in my head.”

Leah looks surprised at the admission. Simon kind of understands why. Bram never really talked much, in high school. He sat with them at lunch and contributed to conversations sometimes, but there was never any closeness between Simon and Bram. Simon can’t say that’s for lack of trying, because he definitely did try. Bram was just always so timid and nervous around him. Especially after the whole creeksecrets post about Simon being gay. Bram always treated him differently after that. But not in a bad way, just…differently. 

They both turn back to the stage, where Bram is unfolding a crumpled piece of paper. It looks like it’s been folded a thousand times over, yellowed at the edges as if he’s left it on a bookshelf for a long time. Simon figures this poem must be close to his heart, if he’s willing to publicly share something he’s probably kept tucked away and out of sight. 

“Hi, everyone. I’m Bram,” he begins, voice a bit awkward and stilted. Simon’s heart warms knowing that Bram is still so timid. “I wrote this in high school, when I came out to my parents. Have you ever tried coming out to religious black parents that grew up in the middle of nowhere, Georgia? Because I wouldn’t recommend it.” The room laughs a little bit, and it seems to ease Bram’s nerves, because he smiles. “I didn’t really know what to title it, so I just… I called it Abraham, which is my name. So.” He takes a deep breath and stares down at his paper. 

Simon gets a bit lost in Bram’s voice. He’s never heard Bram talk so loudly, confidently, and at such length. It’s almost like a lullaby, except Simon’s hanging on every word, wanting to hear the ending. He’s never written it before, but he thinks he could wax poetic  _ about _ Bram’s poetry. He knows he could wax poetic about Bram’s voice. Smooth and slow, a bit sweet. 

Leah turns to Simon like she wants to say something. But she says nothing. Neither of them can bare to divert attention off of Bram. They’re both in shock, he knows that much—neither of them knew that Bram wrote things like this, or felt things like this. 

“Who knew he had such a way with words?” Leah says, when Bram’s finished his poem and everyone is snapping to show their support. “I don’t think either of us have ever heard him speak enough to know that he was capable of such beautiful writing.”

“I’m definitely surprised. He’s just… He’s amazing. I’m amazed. All of those metaphors and the symbolism and the imagery, it all made so much sense? In high school, I always needed Mr. Wise to explain that shit to me one thousand times. But I understood every word of what Bram just said,” Simon gushes. Leah just smiles at him. 

Bram leaves the stage, joining a table off to the left of it. Everyone at the table—his friends, most likely—clap him on the back and wrap him up in hugs. Simon finds himself wanting to walk over there and do the same. To tell Bram that he’s proud of him for being able to do things like this now. Simon remembers all of the oral presentations that Bram stuttered and stumbled and choked his way through, never holding eye contact and always fidgeting. Bram today didn’t do that. Bram today seemed more confident as he went on. Simon can’t help but be proud of him. 

But he knows it’d be creepy to walk over to him and be like  _ hey, dude, I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Simon Spier. We sat together at lunch in high school. Just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you, for being able to read your poem aloud. I think this is the most I’ve ever heard you say. _ After all, there’s a possibility that Bram doesn’t even remember him. As much as it would suck to be forgotten by Cute Bram, the most beautiful boy to ever walk the halls of Creekwood High, Simon can’t say he’d be all that surprised if Bram did forget. 

Simon thinks it’s kind of impossible to forget Bram, though. 

Open mic poetry stops after Bram, and Simon watches them take down the microphone. Leah is tugging on his elbow and asking if he’s ready to leave. Simon glances briefly at Bram, considers going up to him  _ (to say what exactly, Simon?) _ , before deciding just to nod and follow Leah out the door. 

As soon as they round the corner that connects Merlot’s street to their apartment’s street, they’re separated from the rush of departing college students. Apparently they’d all decided to leave after the poetry reading was finished. 

Leah takes it as the opportunity to ask Simon about Bram. 

“So…” She begins, fiddling with her fingers and trying just a bit too hard to be casual. “Cute Bram, huh?”

Simon blushes. “Yeah. I really did think of him like that.” He glances over at her and, when it’s evident that she’s not going to tease him, he decides to continue. “It wasn’t just his looks that made him cute, though. It was just  _ him. _ He didn’t talk much, but everything he did say was always so smart and well thought out. He had quick wit and could bite back with a sarcastic comment before one of us was even finished with the original sarcastic comment, you know? I always had this theory that he was probably really funny inside of his own head.”

“Sounds like you spent a lot of time thinking about him.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” He shrugs. “I had a crush on him since, like, junior year. But I always thought he was straight. Garrett is so aggressively heterosexual that I figured Bram had to be, too, because they were best friends. It never crossed my mind that I, Simon Spier, resident gay theater kid, had one of the straightest men in Creekwood as a best friend. Speaking of Nick, by the way, he’s coming to visit next month.”

Leah grins. “Nice. It’ll be cool to see him again.” She kicks at a rock, watches it roll against the pavement like a stone on a lake’s surface. “But back to this crush that 16 year old Simon had on one Abraham Greenfeld…”

“There’s nothing to say,” Simon laughs. “Nothing ever became of it, as you can tell. I never told him and he never indicated to me that he had any feelings. I did almost kiss him once, but obviously it didn’t happen. And I didn’t even really almost kiss him, I kind of just  _ thought  _ about kissing him. But I was too chicken shit.”

“What?! When was this?!”

“Graduation.”

“What?!”

Simon blushes, shoving his hands in his pockets and ducking his head down. He always thought he was extremely obvious about his infatuation with Bram. Apparently he was way, way wrong about that. “Yeah. Remember, Nick’s mom threw a graduation party for us and Bram was there. He and I ended up alone in that little tent thing she had set up to protect the food from the sun, remember that thing? And we were just talking about how crazy it was that high school was over and stuff, and he kept smiling at me and he had such a cute smile that I seriously considered just going for it. But before I could work up the courage, Abby came into the tent to get more fruit. It kind of ruined the moment.” He looks over at her and discovers she’s fuming. “What?”

“I can’t believe Abby fucked up your epic love story!” She groans, kicking the rock harder than before when she catches up to where it had landed. “If she hadn’t barged in, you two would’ve kissed and then you two would be living together and Bram would be reading cheesy, cliché love poems at Merlot.”

Simon knocks their shoulders together. “I like living with you, though.” 

Leah smiles. “I know you do. I like living with you, too. But I think I could make an exception if you had a live-in boyfriend.”

“God, Leah. It was just a stupid high school crush. I don’t even like him anymore.”

“Oh, you don’t?” She deadpans. 

“What? You don’t believe me?” He asks, and she immediately shakes her head. “That was over a year ago! I haven’t seen him in forever. And clearly my feelings were never all that strong, because I never got the balls to talk to him.”

She waves her hand in dismissal. “That doesn’t mean anything. And I hardly believe that you don’t like him anymore. Not when seeing him up there made you blush like a lovesick teenager. I swear you looked like you were half in love with him throughout his whole reading.” She touches his arm gently. Like a reassurance, or a promise. “It was more than a crush, wasn’t it?”

“Does it matter?” He asks meekly. 

“Of course it does.”

Simon shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe it mattered when we were still in high school, but it doesn’t now. It’s too late.”

“You don’t know that. You should just talk to him.”

“And say what?”

Leah shrugs. “Ask if he remembers you and start from there. I’m not going to tell you what to say because the conversation shouldn’t be forced. But if you go up to him, tell him you liked his poetry, and then ask if he remembers you, I guarantee conversation will come easily. Because he will remember you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“How can you not be?” She retaliates. Simon levels her with a suspicious look, to which she rolls her eyes. “Look, just keep coming to Merlot with me. Next time we’ll go up and talk to him. You’ll see. He remembers you.”

***

They don’t go up to him next time. Or the next time. Or the next four times after that. Every week they go to Merlot, and every week Bram is the last person to read his poem. They’re always about varying topics—racism, homophobia, internal struggles, religion, or sometimes nature. They’re always beautiful and absolutely captivating, and Simon’s always left speechless. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t gotten the courage to approach Bram yet. 

And today, they can’t go to Merlot at all. Because Nick is coming in from the University of South Carolina today, and he and Leah have been cleaning the apartment from top to bottom. It’s kind of funny, really, because Nick has been in Simon’s room when you couldn’t even  _ see _ Simon’s room underneath the piles of dirty clothes. But now, he’s cleaning the baseboards with—the accurately named—Fabuloso. The  _ baseboards. _

“Nick just texted me!” Leah calls from her place in the bathroom, where she’s cleaning the toilet. “He just left the airport and he’s on the way here!”

Simon glances at the time. They don’t have much longer before Nick arrives. He wishes Abby could’ve come, too—but she’s so busy with schoolwork that she’d had to plan her trip over the summer. Simon’s excited for that reunion. For now, though, he focused on getting his clean sheets on his bed. The baseboards will be fine. 

He’s midway through struggling with the fitted sheet when Leah shows up in his door frame, a smile on her face. “Simon, I’ve got it,” she grins. 

“Got what?”

“I know how you can talk to Bram,” she explains. Before Simon can even roll his eyes, she’s sitting down at his desk chair and speaking again. “Nick used to play soccer with Bram, right? So Nick is your secret weapon. We can get him to Merlot tonight, and when he sees Bram reading his poetry, he’ll probably go say hi. And you can go with him. It’s literally foolproof.”

Simon stares. “It’s not foolproof. What if Nick doesn’t recognize him? Or what if Nick doesn’t want to go talk to him?”

“Simon, Nick is your best friend. Besides me, of course,” she explains. “Sure, maybe I didn’t notice that you had a thing for Bram. But what if Nick did? If he knew, that would be more of a reason for him to approach him. And I’m not saying he does know, but  _ if _ he does—”

“Your whole plan is circumstantial. It’s foolproof  _ if _ Nick does what you want him to do.”

“So tell him that you like Bram and want to talk to him but don’t know how. Then he’ll definitely go up to Bram.”

“I can’t just tell him that,” Simon splutters. “Nick and I aren’t… We’re not… I’ve never—”

“Talked to him about boys before?” Leah fills in, and Simon nods. “Well, now’s your chance to change that. It’s not like he’s going to suddenly decide he’s not okay with you being gay if you start talking about boys. Nick isn’t like that.”

Simon nods, “I know. It’s just weird, I guess. To talk to him about boys when I’ve never done that before. Like in high school, when you said you had to kill heterosexual Simon in your head? I don’t know if Nick’s totally done that yet. I don’t know if  _ anyone _ has totally done that yet. Knowing I’m gay is one thing, but talking to me about being gay is another thing. Does that make sense?”

“It does. I get it. But, if nothing else, at least you’ll have crossed this bridge with him. You’ll be even more authentically yourself.”

She stands up, moving to help Simon put on his fitted sheet. Together, they make his bed in record time, without any hitches or struggles. Maybe it’s a bad analogy, but it makes Simon wonder if it would be easier to go up to Bram with Nick by his side, just like it was easier to make his bed with Leah. 

Nick arrives not too long after Leah and Simon finish their cleaning. The first thing he comments on is the smell of lemony fresh cleaner, and it makes Simon blush. Cleaning for Nick seems almost absurd, in hindsight. But Nick just smiles and pulls Simon into a hug, and his blush goes out the window because he hasn’t seen his best friend in months. 

“So,” Nick says, dropping his bag on the floor, “what are our plans for the evening?”

Leah smiles at Simon, then turns back to Nick. Nick looks suspicious instantly. “We’re going for iced coffee,” she says. Nick’s face lights up with what Simon can only place as nostalgia, for those high school mornings of riding to school in Simon’s car with iced coffee in their hands  _ (get milk in Abby’s, Simon, Abby likes milk in hers) _ . “There’s this coffee shop nearby that has really good iced coffee. Simon and I found it a couple of weeks ago and we’ve gone almost every day since. And it’s Friday, so that means it’s open mic night.”

“Man, I should’ve brought my guitar,” Nick grins. 

“Not that kind of open mic,” Simon mumbles, and Leah elbows him. When he glances over to ask her what the hell that was for, he finds her just smiling sweetly at Nick. He knows she’s trying to lie, to keep it a secret to lure Nick there, but he can’t keep his mouth shut. “It’s, uh, poetry readings.”

Nick raises his eyebrows. “Poetry? You’re into poetry now?”

Simon shakes his head. “No. It’s not the poetry I’m into.” Nick blinks for a minute before breaking out into a smile, tugging Simon into his side and throwing an arm around his shoulders. 

“Who’s the boy? Tell me about him. We’ll get you a date tonight, man, don’t worry.”

Simon feels stupid for ever worrying about talking to Nick about this. Of course Nick would be the most supportive friend ever,  _ of course. _ How could he have ever thought differently?

“Do you remember Bram Greenfeld? From high school?”

“Yeah,” Nick nods. “What about him?” When Simon doesn’t answer for a long moment, Nick gasps. Simon knows it clicked. “Bram! No fucking way, I always knew you had a thing for him.”

Leah pokes Simon’s ribs. “See? I told you he knew.”

“Bram had a thing for you, too, you know,” Nick continues. “I mean, he never told me that or anything. But Garrett and I saw the way he looked at you, and the way he talked about you. And the fact that he never talked to you, which was weird, because sometimes at practice we couldn’t shut him up.” He laughs a little bit, rubbing his forehead like he’s thinking. “Man, it feels like high school again. Talking about Greenfeld’s crush on Simon.”

“We have to go,” Leah smiles. “It’s started already, but Bram is always last up. So we can still make it.”

Simon grins back. “I wonder what his poem will be about today. Hopefully something I can come up with a conversation starter from.”

“If all else fails, Nick Eisner is here to start conversation,” Nick teases. “The best wingman in existence.”

The walk to Merlot feels even more long and brutal than the first time Simon walked it. Maybe it’s the anxiety and excitement bubbling in his stomach that makes it feel that way. Leah is kicking rocks and Nick is singing FSU’s fight song, both seemingly unaffected. Simon supposes they have no reason to be. After all, Nick and Abby have been together since forever, and Leah’s happier single than she has been in any of her relationships. They’re just going to get iced coffee. Simon, on the other hand, is going to try and talk to the boy he’d affectionately called Cute Bram for years. 

Merlot is busy when they arrive, and their usual table in the back is full. Leah leads them through the crowd to a table in the second row from the front, and agrees to save their seats while Simon and Nick go to get the coffees. Simon’s just happy to have something to do other than sit and fester in his nerves. 

“You look ready to be sick,” Nick comments as they stand in line. “Why are you so nervous? You talked to Bram almost everyday for four years. Nothing’s different now.”

“Everything is different now,” Simon laughs. “We’re not in high school anymore.” He turns to the barista as they make it up there, smiling as much as he can manage. “Three iced coffees, please.”

“I miss having to ask for one with milk,” Nick sighs. 

Simon rolls his eyes and pretends to gag. Nick, of course, flips him off. “Maybe I shouldn’t say anything to Bram if I’m going to be just as disgusting as you and Abby,” he teases, and Nick flips him off again. The barista hands them their coffees, and Simon walks off before Nick can retaliate. 

When they join Leah at the table, a girl that Simon vaguely recognizes from his stats class is walking up to the microphone. They make eye contact at one point, so Simon smiles encouragingly at her. 

“He’s at his usual table,” Leah comments, and Simon tears his eyes away from the girl from his stats class. “Are you going to talk to him now, or after his poem?”

“After his poem, when everyone clears out,” Simon says. And then, because he’s the fucking worst, Nick starts sliding out of his chair. “Where are you going?”

Nick points to Bram’s table. “To talk to my friend. Are you coming or not?” Simon starts to say he’s not, but Nick is pulling on his elbow, and Simon knows her he doesn’t actually have a choice. So he follows Nick to the table, his hand squeezing his iced coffee so tightly that he’s a bit worried it’ll burst. 

“Greenfeld!” Nick freaking  _ yells _ as they approach Bram’s table. Bram looks up from his journal, his eyes going wide when he sees Simon and Nick standing in front of him. “I haven’t seen you in forever, man. What’s going on?” He reaches over to fist bump Bram.

Bram smiles. “I know, Eisner. It’s been too long. Nothing’s really going on, other than school and this. My life is unequivocally unexciting, I hate to say.” He turns to Simon, who’s just awkwardly standing there. “Hey, Simon. It’s been forever since I’ve seen you, as well.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s been way too long,” Simon nods, focusing all of his strength on not dropping his coffee. “I, uh, it’s kind of weird that we haven’t seen each other. I remember you committing to UGA for soccer, I knew you went here, I just—”

“Life gets in the way,” Bram fills in, saving Simon from his barely coherent rambling. His voice is so soft and gentle, and Simon feels at ease just from hearing him speak. “It’s okay. We’re here now, aren’t we?”

Nick points to Simon, hitting his chest so hard that Simon almost stumbles back. “Simon’s been telling me that he’s heard your poems almost every open mic night for the past few weeks. Apparently you’re really talented, Greenfeld. I better be impressed.”

Bram blushes.  _ Yep,  _ Simon thinks,  _ he’s still Cute Bram. _ “Hopefully, you will be,” Bram nods. “You’ll have to excuse me if I’m a bit more nervous. I had no idea that Simon’s been in the audience all this time. If I knew, there’s no way I’d have been half as confident as I’ve been.”

“Simon?” Nick teases. “Simon Spier makes you nervous? He doesn’t know anything about poetry. You could probably ramble on about the symbolism of a gum wrapper and he’d think it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.”

“Cute boys make me nervous,” Bram says, and then blushes harder, like he can’t believe he just said that. 

But Simon isn’t thinking about that. Or, well, he is. But he’s not thinking of how nervous Simon is. No, he’s thinking of how  _ familiar _ that sentence sounds. He’s thinking of where he’s heard that sentence before, or rather—where he’s read that sentence before. 

The emails. The emails he used to think were Cal Price. 

“Nick, we should go back to Leah,” Simon says, pulling on his arm. “It was nice to see you again, Bram. Good luck up there.”

“Thank you, Simon. See you after?”

“Yeah, sure,” Simon agrees, and then pulls on Nick’s arm harder. Nick apologizes to Bram and then follows Simon back to the table. 

Nick turns on him as soon as they sit. “Dude, what the fuck was that?” He asks. 

“Do you remember the email thing I told you about?” Simon asks. Leah and Nick just stare at him. “The anonymous person I was emailing in high school? About being closeted? The emails that got me outed by Martin junior year?”

Leah is nodding, now, “Yeah. Why?”

“Bram just said that cute boys make him nervous. Blue said the exact same thing.”

“So?” Nick asks. “I’m sure lots of people say that. Cute girls make  _ me _ nervous. Are you sure you’re not just reading too much into it?”

“No, but—”

Leah interrupts him. “Just ask him after he reads his poem, okay? But he’s about to go up.”

They turn to the stage, where Bram is standing by the stairs. He looks at his notebook for a long time, like he’s thinking. Then he looks up, searching the room. He stops when his eyes land on Simon. They hold eye contact for several moments too long, but Simon wouldn’t break it if he wanted to. 

In the end, Bram breaks it. He turns and sits back down at his table, putting his notebook away. His friends try to push him back up, but he refuses, and the staff puts the microphone away without Bram ever going up to read. 

“Damn, Simon,” Nick breathes. “You  _ do _ make him nervous.”

Simon’s not listening. He gets out of his chair and crosses the room, dropping into the open chair next to Bram. 

“Why didn’t you go up?” He asks, and Bram doesn’t look at him. “Did I really make you that nervous? Or was it Nick? I know he’s a huge jock, but he won’t, like, think you’re weird for writing poetry or anything. Like, he won’t make fun of you, if that’s what you’re worrying about. Or if it  _ is _ me, I won’t come anymore, if you don’t want me to. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable in any way.”

“Simon,” Bram laughs, putting his hand on top of Simon’s. Simon looks down at it, which prompts Bram to awkwardly pull it away. Simon wants him to put it back. “It’s not you or Nick making me uncomfortable. In fact, I’m not uncomfortable at all. It’s just… The poem I was supposed to read.”

“Oh.” Simon swallows thickly. He suddenly wishes he’d brought his coffee, because his throat is as dry as the Sahara. “What’s wrong with it?”

Bram shakes his head. “Nothing’s wrong with it. I just didn’t want to read it in front of you.”

“So it is me. Jesus, Bram, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, it’s not you. I mean, okay, it is, but not really. It’s me more than anything.” Simon blinks at him, and Bram chuckles. “Okay, I’m not making any sense. Look, maybe you should just read this. Then you’ll understand.” 

He opens his notebook, sliding it across the table to sit in front of Simon. Simon can see his perfectly straight, neat print on the page. It’s so familiar that Simon’s heart pounds. 

“If you didn’t want to read it in front of me, why do you want me to read it now?”

“Just read it,” Bram coaxes, pointing to the page to try and direct Simon’s attention. “Trust me.”

Simon turns to the notebook, looking at what Bram has written. His heart jumps to his throat. 

_ Title: Jacques and Blue vs The Homo Sapiens Agenda _

He doesn’t need to read more. 

“You,” Simon says, quite eloquently. “You’re Blue. What? I’m so confused.”

Bram shrugs, blushing a little. “I made a post on the tumblr in August of junior year and someone named Jacques responded. For months, Jacques and I emailed back and forth about the daily struggle of being closeted in high school. I fell in love with these words on my computer screen, even though I didn’t know who it was. It could’ve been anyone. How lucky was I that it turned out to be the guy I’d had a crush on since 9th grade?”

“So lucky,” Simon says, weakly. 

Bram nods. “Very. But I was too scared to tell that boy who I was. And as I got older, I realized how angry I was—at myself and the world—for being scared. I was angry that I hurt Jacques, I was angry that I was made to feel ashamed of who I was by society, I was just  _ angry. _ So, senior year, after the graduation party at Nick’s house, I wrote this poem. About the boy I fell in love with as I got to know him from the inside out, and how angry I was that I was too scared to come out and show him that I loved him, too. I knew he loved me. But I don’t think Jacques ever knew that. He deserved to know.”

“Jacques was outed before he was ready,” Simon whispers. “He understood how it felt to not be ready to come out. He knows, more than anyone, probably, how important it is to come out on your own terms.”

“Jacques is a lot braver than I am.”

Simon shakes his head. “I don’t know. This is a pretty brave thing to do.” He taps the notebook, hoping Bram understands the message that Simon has been wanting to say from the beginning:  _ I’m so proud of you. _ “But I think Jacques needs one more moment to be brave.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Simon nods. “Despite the fact that Jacques still has that Elliott Smith shirt in his closet, he seems to have lost the note that went with it. So he was hoping he could get, uh, Blue’s number again. If that’s okay.”

Bram smiles. “It’s more than okay.” He opens his notebook to the last page, writing his number on a blank sheet before ripping it out and handing it to Simon. Simon folds it, shoves it in his back pocket. He thinks of the first night he saw Bram perform, about that folded and creased paper. He wonders if there’s poetic symbolism in that poem and Bram’s phone number in his back pocket. 

“I’ll call you,” Simon says, and Bram nods. Neither of them can wipe the smiles off of their faces. “Actually, I’ll probably text you tonight. Nick wants to go to some stupid party and I’ll probably get really bored.”

“Bored? And yet here you are at a poetry reading.”

Simon shrugs. “You can be very distracting, Bram.” He watches the way Bram  _ (Blue) _ lights up, probably remembering the first time Simon called him distracting. Back when Simon was Jacques and Bram was Blue. “I’ll text you, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

They both sit, neither of them moving. Bram laughs, pushing at Simon’s arm. “Go. Nick might have an aneurysm if you don’t go back over there soon.” Simon looks over and, sure enough, Leah and Nick are giving them a staredown. 

“Yeah, okay.” He stands, touching his pocket and feeling the edges of the paper there.  _ Bram’s phone number.  _ “Next week, you better be reading a poem about how much you love me,” he teases. And then instantly regrets it. Who says that shit?

“Of course,” Bram says. “I have plenty of those.”

Simon chokes on his spit, and finally makes his exit to save him some embarrassment. But he can hear Bram laughing as he walks away, and it makes his heart warm. Cute Bram is still so fucking cute, and Simon’s gay heart can’t handle it. 

Nick smiles when Simon approaches the table once again. “How did it go?”

Simon shakes his head in disbelief. All of this is so, so surreal. “Let’s just say… A lot has changed since high school. I wasn’t wrong about that.” He feels the edges of Bram’s paper again, and smiles up at his friends. “And, you know, maybe change isn’t such a bad thing. Anyway. I think I need a refill on my coffee. Either of you want one?”

**Author's Note:**

> all mistakes are mine  
> find me on tumblr @ femmevilde


End file.
